


hey, sugar

by orphan_account



Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Also cats, Alternate Universe - Bakery, Cake, M/M, Slow Burn, a decent amount of fluff, aggravated sighing to the tune of in too deep by sum 41, and some macarons for good measure, lots of cake
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-03 16:54:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1751870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>pa·tis·se·ri </p><p>noun. \pə-ˈti-sə-rē, pä-\</p><p>a shop that sells cakes, cookies, etc. : a pastry shop</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so. remember that kaimiwa bakery au i literally wouldnt shut up about. well here it fucking is for better or for worse
> 
> constructive criticism is welcomed !! ovo)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [beatboxing] kaimiwa its really cool rarepairs are beautiful

Someone was baking cake, and it smelled fantastic.

Usually, this would go unnoticed. After all, the rather comfortable bench on which Kai Toshiki was currently napping _did_ make its home in the back room of the main floor of a hole-in-the-wall patisserie on one of the side streets of Hitsue City. As such, the smell of a batch of from-scratch cupcakes with handmade buttercream icing would be more welcoming than ominous under normal circumstances.

However, these were not normal circumstances. The sole patissier was not in the kitchen thanks to the fact that it was 2pm and he had woken up at four in the morning in order to open up properly after a month’s break, making macarons and cupcakes and pies and that special order for the mayor’s fourth wedding. PSY’s other two employees were both incapable of baking such concoctions; Misaki Tokura specialized in drinks such as coffee and tea while Naoki Ishida led the store’s very own one-person aesthetics team. As such, there was no one around with the ability to craft a confection of edible quality, much less one that could produce the delectable scent wafting from the direction of PSY’s kitchen.

After a thorough and logical analysis of the above information, Kamui Katsuragi came to the logical conclusion that Patisserie PSY was currently harboring a kitchen ghost.

* * *

 

“Kai, your kitchen is haunted!”

The top-volume yell is at once familiar and strange to Kai. It’s familiar because it’s the voice of fifteen-year-old short stuff Kamui Katsuragi, whose presence he has come to expect in the patisserie every single day after the local high school lets out; it’s strange because it’s several octaves higher than usual and talking about ghosts and why does it sound like someone’s in the kitchen _holy shit-_

Kai is up at the speed of Mach 5, tossing the jacket he’s been using as a blanket onto the bench and grabbing the white apron hanging on one of the hooks above him. He smoothes out his shirt and straightens his hair and adopts a murderous expression as he simultaneously processes Kamui’s statement and the amazing scent gradually filtering into his olfactory receptors.

“The kitchen ghost is going to get it,” remarks one of Kamui’s friends in hushed tones, to which the other responds with “KG, yo..”

Kai doesn’t answer as he stalks out of the back room, and Kamui trails him to the one space he’s never stepped over the threshold of: PSY’s kitchen.

It’s a pretty normal kitchen, as kitchens go. There’s a three-wall counter and a sparkling stainless-steel sink and a floor-to-ceiling oven and a jet-black refrigerator that you can practically see your reflection on, and there’s the island in the middle that’s usually host to Kai and his recipe book and a neat amalgamation of cooking implements and the bright red and shiny KitchenAid mixer that’s _not in its place._

Kai stands in the doorway and levels his most terrifying glare at the cute blond cleaning off his mixer— _Kai’s mixer—_ until the latter party looks up and waves.

“Oh, hi! I thought this was the entrance…I guess not?”

“The entrance,” responds Kai icily, “is not the kitchen. Why are you using my mixer?”

His conversational partner has the grace to look abashed. “I thought this was some sort of test. You know, like for new patissiers?”

“New patissiers,” echoes Kai vaguely, reaching for some type of explanation. Misaki mentioned something about finally filling the cashier position and would he be okay if Miwa arrived a little late on Monday, and okay, sure, no one’s here except Kamui and his friends and the utter moron currently offering him a flour-covered handshake. “…Miwa Taishi.”

“That’s me!” Miwa grins at him, and it startles Kai out of replying with “you’ve gravely misunderstood the position you applied for, also don’t ever use my mixer or I’ll tie you to a lamppost” so instead he accepts the handshake and adjusts his apron again and watches impassively as Miwa drops a swear word and dashes in the direction of the oven.

Kai lifts a cupcake foil from the first tray as Miwa runs for the second and breaks off a piece. It looks and smells almost like the cupcakes he made this morning, and he contemplates placing it back down and checking for poison first when he notices his recipe notebook open on the counter from when he was baking earlier. It clicks, then; Miwa must have thought he set this up or something when really Kai just left everything on the table because he was too exhausted to think properly. And, well, _shit,_ so he brings the tiny piece of cupcake to his mouth and takes an even tinier bite.

Kamui looks like he wants to run from the shop or burst into tears or do both, and Kai would be amused if he wasn’t so stunned by the caliber of the dessert he’s just sampled.

It tastes like home.

No one’s ever been able to match his parents’ recipe to the letter except for him, and even then he sometimes slips up and forgets to add a pinch of vanilla or a fourth of a teaspoon of something and it doesn’t work. Everyone still says it’s _flawless_ , it’s _fantastic_ , it’s _to be expected of the only son of the esteemed PSY patissiers_ when it’s _not_ and he would just like to give up baking altogether. (Except that’s a lie, because he distinctly remembers pitching a fit in front of Misaki about not wanting to bake anymore and then making a whole new macaron recipe to calm down.)

And Miwa managed it on the first try.

“How is it?”

Kai jumps because Miwa’s snuck up on him like some kind of Pokemon (which, well, he could be with that hair) and nearly drops the cupcake, snapping something about it being passable while contemplating the merits of storming out. Of course, he won’t because he’s almost twenty and that makes him a mature young adult—

“Whoa, Kai actually ate your cake?!” Kamui stares in awe at Miwa, mouth gaping unabashedly as he takes a step into the kitchen. “You must have been really good, because he literally never eats _anythi-”_

“Kamui. Get out," says Kai, ignoring his previous resolve not to stomp out in a huff as he does exactly that.

_I’m surrounded by morons._

“You needed to wake up anyway!” yells Kamui after him.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone get me a shovel


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUDOS???? WHEEZES
> 
> no definite update times bc, as always, im going into this with no real idea of what im doing  
> anyway, here's wonderwall

The next day, Miwa gives his job away.

Kamui’s on cash when Kai gets back from a grocery run (because they were out of eggs and this is a fucking _pastry shop,_ you’re never out of eggs.) Since Kai is more occupied with keeping the flour and sugar in their original upright positions, he almost misses the dozing teenager sitting on the wrong side of the counter. Until he doesn’t, because if Miwa’s relieving him of his keys and offering to help unload things then _who--_

“Why is Kamui doing your job?” enquires Kai quite calmly when Miwa reappears with five bags at once.

“He lost!” Miwa gleefully deposits the bags on the island counter before reaching into the front pocket of his shirt and pulling something out.

Kai recognizes the familiar pattern on the back of the first card almost immediately. “...Vanguard.”

“Yeah!” Miwa lights up. “Do you play, too?”

Kai’s not listening; he’s turned the deck on its face and is examining the cards. They’re familiar--too familiar--and it doesn’t really register until he’s seen Bahr and Nehalem and Kimnara that this deck is a Kagero build, and huh, that’s interesting considering the circumstances, but where’s…

“Oh, oops,” says Miwa, grinning sheepishly. “Hang on a sec.” He opens his wallet, and Kai watches as he flips through a handful of rewards cards and smushed-up receipts before pulling something out. Kai accepts with a raised eyebrow, about to ask why Miwa carries trading cards in his wallet before he turns the card over.

It’s _his_ dragon.

The card slips through Kai’s fingers and falls to the floor. He can’t breathe, can’t move, he’s staring directly at Dragonic Overlord but he’s seeing bright blue eyes and a hesitant smile, and the familiar aroma of assorted pastries is drowned by the cloyingly sweet scent of hospital flowers.

Kai plucks the card from the floor, muttering an apology for dropping it, and hands it and the deck back to Miwa as though it’s on fire. If the latter notices something’s wrong, he refrains from commenting as he replaces it behind his Visa.

“So.” Miwa leans on the island counter, attempting a conversational stance but failing utterly thanks to his hopeful expression. “You play Vanguard, right?”

“Not anymore,” responds Kai, more quietly than he intended. He reaches past Miwa for the measuring cups and opens the bag of flour.

“Personally, Kagero is my favorite clan,” Miwa continues cheerfully, opening the cabinet to retrieve more jars. “I mean, I tried Paladins but literally everyone uses them because the main character in the show runs it, you know? And then there was that time I made a Bermuda Triangle deck, that was fun, and then I ran Link Joker when the new season came out...I wonder what deck type you used to use?”

Drawn by Vanguard talk, Kamui appears in the doorway just in time to hear the end of Miwa’s sentence. He barely manages a strangled “Uh, Miwa--” before Kai cuts him off.

“I already told you I don’t play anymore. Stop talking about it.”

Miwa shuts up. Kai picks up the second largest measuring cup and starts scooping flour into a jar, ignoring the kicked-puppy expression currently being directed at his left shoulder blade.

It’s been too long since he’s seen those cards up close.

* * *

 

“Okay, everyone! Today, we’re skipping school!”

Twelve-year-old Ren Suzugamori switches walking directions so that he can give each of his friends the same bright grin, placing one foot behind the other in a carefully-executed pattern of steps so as not to fall off the curb.

“Ren, you can’t just _skip_ school,” responds Misaki Tokura authoritatively, placing a hand on Ren’s shoulder and spinning him around the right way; her black Doc Martens fall in step alongside his colorful Pokemon sneakers. “Besides, we’ll all get in trouble.”

“ _You’ll_ get in trouble,” amends Ren, sticking out his tongue at the scowling girl. “Our school records don’t count yet.”

“Yeah, Misaki, you’re _old!”_ chimes in Kai, grinning cheekily. “You’re in _middle_ school!”

“So are you, four-eyes.” Misaki smirks, leaning in and flicking the bridge of Kai’s glasses.

“Ow!”

“G-guys, don’t argue!” The youngest of the group swoops in to stop the brewing argument, waving his hands in between the two glaring parties as he continues talking. “We _have_ to go to school, the bus is almost here! And, Misaki, isn’t Tetsu in seventh grade too?”

“What about me?” asks Tetsu from where he’s walking behind them.

Ren is the only one who doesn’t jump in surprise, instead hopping off the curb to launch himself at his friend.

“Tetsuuuuu! We’re skipping school today!”

“We are?” Tetsu raises an eyebrow, looking mildly confused as he transfers his iPod to his pocket with the hand Ren isn’t holding. “But I have a project due.”

“Finally!” Misaki huffs. “A voice of reason!”

“Aww…” Ren’s face falls for a bit, but then he perks up. “Wait, I have an idea! We can say we all got sick!”

“At the same time?” asks Aichi, looking a bit nervous. “The teachers won’t believe that…”

“Aichi has a point.” Kai considers, chewing on a fingernail. He doesn’t want to go to school either, but no decent excuse is forthcoming unless he pulls his one get out of school free card...

“Guys,” he says, and everyone turns to look at him. “Maybe I can get my parents to cover for us. There’s nothing going on at the shop today…”

“What _usually_ happens there?” Ren interrupts excitedly at the same time Misaki blurts, “Your parents have a shop?”

Kai winces slightly and turns to face his friends, acutely aware of the four inquisitive stares in his direction as he begins to explain.

“Do any of you know about this place called PSY?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [leans on a wall] [accidentally slides down] shit


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> l m a o its 3am

A week passes, and a pattern is established.

Kai stumbles downstairs at five in the morning, downs a cup of coffee and does not emerge from PSY’s kitchen until eight am when the patisserie’s set to open, by which time Miwa’s usually crashed through the back door ten minutes late with half his coat dangling off his shoulder while blurting something about how he was chased by the neighbor’s dog for five blocks, which is ridiculous because the kid owns a motorcycle.

Miwa covers the morning shift, chatting animatedly with customers about life, the universe and dessert as he rings up purchases and answers the phone and scribbles special orders on cupcake-shaped sticky notes for Kai to see when he leaves for the break room.

Misaki joins them in the afternoons, taking over cash once her classes at Hitsue University are over. Miwa stays on, testing dessert ideas and bad pickup lines on unsuspecting victims and cardfighting anyone who asks, which is mostly the high schoolers who want to see if the new guy is _really_ good enough to beat The Great Kamui. (He hasn’t lost yet, not that Kai has been watching any of the six matches from where he’s icing some dessert or other for the evening rush.)

* * *

 

“You know what you should make?” asks Miwa one afternoon, after Kai’s just finished whipping up a batch of black-and-white cookies for tonight’s coffee special. “A Vanguard display.”

 _Vanguard again._ Kai ignores him, lifting the cookie platter gently off the counter and striding past him with it. Miwa snags a spoonful of leftover icing and trails him as he exits the kitchen, licking the spoon as he continues.

“Come on, Kai! We haven’t had anything super big on display in ages! The kids would love it--”

“No.” Kai tugs out the empty trays from the display case and starts loading them with cookies; neat black-and-white formations assemble themselves within seconds. “Whose kids?” he adds as an afterthought, before noticing what he’s just said and hoping against hope that Miwa won’t reply with something as asinine as--

“ _Our_ kids,” declares Miwa emphatically, waving the spoon. Kai cringes, all hopes dashed on the prettily-tiled floor.

“You haven’t noticed, have you?” Misaki gives him a dry look and gestures in the direction of the table Kamui regularly frequents. No less than six middle schoolers have purloined chairs from another table and are currently observing the utter destruction of Kamui’s opponent by the his trusty Nova Grappler deck. As Kai watches, Kamui calls a finishing move; his opponent bravely declares he won’t guard and swipes the top card from his own deck with a determined expression.

“They’re here every day,” comments Miwa, who’s finished assembling the last row of cookies in Kai’s absence and has deemed it appropriate to claim one as a reward. He munches his stolen snack and gives Kai a very pointed look.

“I am not going to make a display centered around a children’s card game.”

“No need to be rude, you know,” scolds Miwa, glowering as he snatches up the empty plate and marches through the entrance to the kitchen. “You could have just said no.”

Kai bristles, glaring at the swinging door. _“I did!”_

Misaki sighs heavily and abandons her position at the register, thanking every higher presence she knows of for the fact that no adult customers are around to witness their resident patissiers act like two-year-olds. “Sadly, Miwa has a point. Naoki managed to finagle us a critic, and it’s going to take something pretty unconventional to impress him.”

“I didn’t know Naoki still worked here,” mutters Kai under his breath.

Misaki punches him.

“ _Ow!_ What the hell?!”

“If you can’t be nice, at least pretend.” Misaki scoffs at Kai, who’s rubbing his arm more out of shock than actual pain. “Naoki also serves as our part-time PR--”

A particularly loud yell cuts off the end of Misaki’s sentence; Kamui’s fight has apparently concluded while they were talking, because short stuff is neither of the currently arguing parties.

Misaki bites out a muffled swear word and pushes off the counter. The group parts like the Red Sea at her approach; Kai deduces that they’ve all been on the receiving end of a reprimand or two (or ten) and have absolutely no desire to repeat the experience. He doesn’t blame them; vague middle school memories littered with strong punches and stronger insults have reinforced his wariness and eventually, his grudging respect of the imposing presence that is Tokura Misaki.

“Keep it down or I’m booting you all out,” orders Misaki, halting in front of the two fighters. Everyone quiets instantly. “Now cool it and tell me what happened.”

“This guy pulled out Tyrano!” complains one of the players. “It’s like his second turn, he’s not even at G2 yet--”

“He didn’t ride it,” blurts Kai instinctively from the counter, noting the box from the trial deck that's balanced on the edge of the table behind them and _wow someone please pick it up before it falls on the floor._ "He used Baby Rex’s counterblast to call it to a rear guard circle, and he’s probably going to boost with Iguano and set up with Beamankylo or an intercept on the other side--”

Belatedly, Kai realizes what he’s saying and closes his mouth. Unfortunately, the damage is done; six pairs of adolescent eyes are trained on him with nothing short of awe, and Kamui and Misaki are staring at him as though he’s sprouted a second limb.

“We’ve got a week until Naoki’s critic can make it,” says Misaki finally, picking up Baby Rex and turning it over to reveal to everyone the effect Kai still has memorized despite seven years of not touching a card. “Just...think about it.”

Kai scowls and whirls around, fully intending to vacate the premises at his earliest convenience (read: _right fucking now_ ) and ends up almost walking into the wall when he sees Miwa at the entrance of PSY’s kitchen, another witness to the spectacle. Scowl deepening, he snatches his jacket off the wall hanger and heads for the main entrance. Two of the boys back their chairs even closer to the table as he passes them.

“Yo, Kai!” calls Miwa after him. “Where you headed?”

“Out,” says Kai simply, and then he’s gone.

* * *

 Exactly ten steps later, Kai crosses paths with the first cat.

The silver tabby sitting in his way blinks once and stretches, stepping daintily around his black boots and striding off without a backwards glance. Flurries swirl gently in Kai's wake as he hurries to catch up; his hair and the sleeves of his coat are soon dusted with mismatched flakes of ice.

The odd pair pauses briefly at a busy intersection. Kai leans in a bit to examine the stops on the nearby transit sign and nearly misses the tradeoff between his current traveling partner and the next. When he next glances down, a small kitten with flaming orange fur is sitting next to the silver cat, baring its small teeth impatiently in a futile attempt to appear threatening. Noticing its human companion is finally paying attention, the tiny feline hisses once at him for good measure and glances in either direction before barreling across the street, leaving its impassive partner and an exasperated Kai in the dust. Snow. Whatever.

So it is that Kai Toshiki is escorted across Hitsue City by a steadily-increasing convoy of cats, and anyone who stares strangely at them is met with a steely gaze that strikes colder than the winter winds.

The party's final escort, a chocolate-point Siamese, halts in front of a park bench on the opposite end of town, and Kai doesn’t have to turn around to know that behind him stands the largest retailer of Vanguard merchandise across three cities. Instead, he kneels on the packed snow and conveys his thanks to the assembled cats (including the kitten he has politely dubbed "the small rude one") before affixing the lump on the park bench with a dry stare.

"Nice try, but snow is white."

The oddly placed pile of gray snow atop the bench twitches its tail, sending a miniature flurry to the ground before standing up and revealing itself to be a gorgeous gray tabby with a faded red collar and piercing onyx eyes. Kai remembers a time when the snow trick would have fooled him, back when this particular cat was a huge trouble magnet that conveniently happened to arrive in the shape of a small gray feline, and he lets the smallest of smiles grace his lips as the cat stretches languidly and meows at him.

"It's been a while, Sub-Manager."

Sub-Manager pads over to Kai's side and sits up straight, puffing out its chest somewhat so as to draw attention to the tag attached to its collar. The front of the small metal edifice possesses an etching that looks similar to the backing of a Vanguard card; flipping it over, Kai notices the neatly printed letters forming Card Capital's name and, beneath that, the bold title of Official Secondary Manager.

"So, how's the job?"

Sub-Manager fixes the patissier with an unblinking stare, and if Kai didn't know better he would say that he just saw exasperation flicker within the tabby's eyes.

"Pch, bet mine is worse."

It's always been like this between them--even now, Kai finds himself settling into the familiarity of it. His voice echoes quietly around them as he talks, his breath forming small puffs of condensation in midair; Sub-Manager listens and meows at appropriate intervals and offers the expressions and motions that he cannot. He's midway through a play-by-play of Kamui's latest match (sans the yelling of "STAND AND DRAW!" at the beginning of every turn, because, well, that would be utterly lame) when something nudges his leg insistently.

The escort party has long since melted into the lengthening shadows of alleyways and trees and surprisingly tall piles of shoveled snow. All except one, apparently; the orange kitten from before is scowling at Kai like he's personally eaten the last fish cracker, and he can't stop the exasperated sigh from slipping out at the sight.

"Look, I don't have food, if that's what you're after."

The smaller feline looks even more insulted at the suggestion. Agitated, it leaps onto the bench, conducting a rushed sort-of conversation with Sub-Manager; Kai doesn't fully understand why his every pore is suddenly filled with a deep-rooted sense of dread until Sub-Manager nudges the orange ball of fur in his direction.

"Oh, hell no. I can't deal with _two_ strays."

Half-rising from the bench, Kai makes to leave, but Sub-Manager's glare pins him down like one of the Post-its on the special order wall back at the patisserie. He winces. The kitten with the brilliant orange fur is staring him down with an odd combination of wariness and curiosity; the blatant dislike from before is gone, and Kai wonders if a symbiotic relationship would even be possible. He's an orderly person by nature, one of a select few who can look at the trainwreck of a work area they're currently operating in and find the receipt for last month's restock of nonpareils, and he values peace of mind above all else. Order and chaos are the stark contrast of black and white, yin and yang. They don't mix, and attempts to peacefully manufacture the color grey always end in some type of personal disaster: arbitrary testing of recipes he had no intention of divulging to anyone, Vanguard matches being held directly outside his kitchen door, unprecedented shortages in flour and sugar and eggs and personal space--

* * *

 Kai watches the streetlights flicker on one by one around him and realizes that he is thinking about Miwa Taishi.

He is so, so fucked.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thi s is late and not very long

The first mistake Kai makes is trying to give the cat a name.

It’s late enough that the bus driver flashes Kai an annoyed look as he climbs the stairs and flashes his bus pass to gain entry. The only other passenger is currently fighting his scarf for exit, so Kai forgoes his usual back seat in favor of a middle row and gingerly relocates someone’s old candy wrapper to another chair before freeing the small orange ball of fur from the confines of his jacket.

There is an audible _snick_ as the kitten unsheathes its claws into the pliable fabric of the seat, arching its back and yowling profanities into the space between them. Kai leans against the back of the chair and fights the urge to sigh for a very long time.

“If you’re going to be that pissy about it, you can sit there and shiver for all I care.”

The kitten sneers in response, turning away to clean its face with a paw that’s barely the size of one of the coins in his wallet. Kai actually does sigh this time-- _stubborn little shit_ \--before extricating the ends of his burgundy scarf from his jacket and unceremoniously dumping it onto the latter party.

“Take it or leave it. I’m going to sleep,” Kai informs the fabric before leaning against the back of the bus chair. Tugging his phone out of his pocket, he hazards a glance at the infrequently-used screen; the time glows at him in bright white letters, sparking a slight flash of guilt. He's inadvertently saddled Miwa with the evening rush.

Right. _Miwa._

Kai scowls and makes a valiant effort to push his current train of thought off a cliff. (That effort is assisted greatly when his scarf sneezes at him and he remembers that Sub-Manager is counting on him to come up with something better than "small rude one" or "hey, you", and he spends the rest of the ride up thinking of names for the second stray he's picked up.)

* * *

 

"Name him after me," suggests Miwa later that night.

Misaki snorts into her coffee, not even bothering to feign dignity while Kai counts to ten and contemplates his second mistake of the night: arriving at the shop with the still-nameless feline in tow.

"What did I say?" Miwa asks in a stage whisper. Predictably, no one answers him.

Misaki drains her coffee cup and tosses it in the sink, grabbing two mugs from the dishwasher and opening the refrigerator while the percolator in the corner does its job. She tosses the can of whipped cream to a startled Kai and the canister of caramel bits to a marginally less startled Miwa before nudging the door closed with an elbow and starting on the cafe lattes they didn't ask for (but are going to drink anyway, because Misaki is damn good at her job.)

"Name him after you, then," Miwa says, opening the caramels.

"Close it and hand it over," replies Misaki without turning around; Miwa pouts and complies, albeit reluctantly.

"You didn't think that one through, did you?" Kai spares him a sharp glance and tries to ignore Misaki's smirk as she pops open the caramels and gently shakes the canister above one of the mugs.

"Not really, no," answers the other patissier cheekily as he reaches for the whipped cream; Misaki slaps his hand away remorselessly as she starts on the second latte. "Hey, what about Cat Butler?"

Kai closes his eyes and starts counting in English.

They eventually settle on Taro. It's not a bad name, as names go, and Kai thinks it's actually kind of fitting: taro has an unexpected flavor for its appearance and takes a while to get used to, but before you know it you're in line for taro boba at your friend's parents' tea place on a hot summer afternoon instead of bribing your resident barista-in-training for a drink with the promise of a set of new colored pencils.

(Misaki ordered the taro too, that day. It was hot, too hot for Ren to even consider hugging them the way he usually draped his affections over his favorite people, but he still looked completely thrilled that they had chosen his favorite flavor as their first taste of boba tea. They sat outside, slumping against the railing blocking off the tables from the too-close freeway and poking at the floating jellies in their respective cups with the oversize straws before Ren scolded them to drink it, not to play with it and Kai retorted that maybe he could benefit from taking his own advice the next time they went to Tetsu's place for dinner.)

Kai stirs his coffee and watches the whipped cream melt into the warm liquid. Next to him, the newly-christened Taro sneezes, and he tucks his scarf over the tips of the kitten's ears as the feline settles back into sleep.

Misaki stares at the cat like she's just decided something and puts down her second cup of tea, rummaging in the cabinet while quietly directing Miwa to Kai's study for a permanent marker. She emerges with the smallest of his mixing bowls, something he bought at IKEA but never unpackaged properly because the garish polka dots in all the colors of the rainbow clash terribly with his philosophy on life, and as Miwa returns with the black Sharpie Kai thinks now is probably a good time to start sneakily edging towards the door lest they ask him to do the honors.

As it turns out, his suspicions are wrong. They don't _ask_ him.

"You have the neatest writing," says Miwa, and that's that. Kai grudgingly accepts the writing utensil and neatly prints _Taro_ in capital letters along the side of the bowl, thereby cementing their collective fates. The sharp tang of permanent ink filters through the comfortingly sweet scent of coffee floating around them, and he wrinkles his nose as he caps the marker.

"Guess that's that," declares Miwa in a whisper, stretching his arms above his head before gently tugging the Sharpie out of Kai's hand. "Patisserie PSY's got itself a resident mascot."

Kai watches Miwa doodle paw prints on the bowl and scoffs from behind the rim of his coffee cup. Taro is the direct opposite of a mascot, but they can figure that out on their own time.

* * *

 

Kai's final and fatal mistake is allowing the kitten to stay.

He does not regret granting Taro a permanent residence inside the bakery in the slightest. He pours a dish of water every morning (milk only once a week because too much of it will aggravate his built-in intolerance for it) and refills the mixing bowl during his breaks with small portions of can tuna, the occasional chunk of meat and half a handful of dry kitten food. He's gotten used to stepping around Taro every morning and every afternoon and every evening, and he's come to terms with the knowledge that if he asks Miwa to pick up bean buns from the cart down the street he should also expect a flaming orange feline barely the size of his notepad to accompany him for lunch. None of this particularly worries him; snow is cold and buttercream is rich and there is a tiny cat underfoot in the patisserie literally all the time, and that's just how it works.

But a place of residence is different than a place to _stay,_ and the last time Kai got this attached to something _(someone)_ he wasn't able to stop them from leaving.

Kai shrugs off his jacket, exchanges it for his apron and moves Taro to the nearest place out of his way (which happens to be the main counter) before heading into the kitchen to drop off the nonpareils Miwa has declared utterly necessary for cake pops. They aren't, of course; the equivalent of a ball of cake on a stick needs absolutely nothing aside from different colors of icing to cross its petite visage, but Kai lacks the time to reason with the blonde bane of his existence right now. There are sixty cake pops that need to be baked, cooled and iced by tomorrow morning and he requires all the assistance he can get.

Which means they start now. "Misaki, have you seen Miwa?"

"Nope," responds the barista impassively, brushing past him with a large box in hand; Kai notes with some trepidation that it contains several blankets and a bag of cat litter. "But you might want to do something about our cat."

Taro is balanced perilously on the very edge of the counter, fur fluffed up to maximum volume. Several high schoolers loom over him. Despite himself, Kai feels a twinge of pity for the terrified kitten, but before he can do much beside extricate himself from the kitchen doorway, the front bellchime sounds and a familiar voice cuts across the bakery.

"Ah, you guys should probably back up! He's not too fond of people."

Miwa waves a gloved hand in greeting at Kai and the group of teenagers, cheeks flushed from the cold. He's carrying a bag from the only bake shop Kai ever visits for supplies and smirking like a Cheshire cat, which is unnerving because it's not much different from his usual grin. Not that Kai gives half of a shit, of course; curiosity killed the--

 _"Shit."_ Kai scoops the cat off the counter. Taro hisses in protest and wriggles out of his hands, and before he knows it he's got a ball of orange fur nestled snugly in his front apron pocket.

"Cute," Miwa comments airily, and Kai slams his left hand in the kitchen door. "Oh, also, that shop you told me about is full of amazing stuff! Those kiss the cook aprons? They're real!"

"This is your fault," Kai tells the orange tail sticking out of his front pocket, heading into the bathroom for a bandage as Miwa regales the high schoolers crowded around the counter with tales of Pokemon-shaped pancake flippers and ninjabread men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kaimiwa fucked me up *plays a sad song on my sad violin*


End file.
